


Housebroken

by withered



Series: Who's been lovin' you good? [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Tony Stark, Bucky and the Soldier are suitably impressed and turned on, Bucky and the Soldier co-existing, Bucky would help, Conversations between Bucky and the Soldier, Friday is a good bro, Friday tries to help, M/M, Not Clint Friendly, Not Wanda Friendly, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Slightly oblivious Tony, The Rogues move back into the Compound, The Soldier as a separate personality, Tony could take over the world in this one, Tony don't give a f, Tony flays them, Unintentional, go figure, kind of a dom undertone for Tony, not team Cap friendly, the soldier needs a new mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-06 04:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13403592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withered/pseuds/withered
Summary: Bucky and the Soldier need a new mission. Anthony Edward Stark is a suitable candidate.





	1. Chapter 1

Being a free man was a confusing experience for Bucky.

He was sure he liked it, at least parts of it, getting to choose what to do with his time, what he ate, when he could rest, Bucky liked that. But free will, options, preferences, choices, it was a lot to take in. _Should he wear blue? Does he like peaches or plums? Is it safe to sleep here?_ He hadn’t made a choice for himself for over seventy-odd years.

Romania helped.

It was a safe location, politically, that helped ease Bucky into being something other than the Asset, even if it wasn’t Bucky Barnes from days of yore, as Steve had hoped.

During that time, Bucky discovered that he liked plums more than peaches and he only slept once he triple checked the locks and ensured he had a fully loaded glock and a knife somewhere in arms reach, but he still didn’t know if he should wear blue – so he settled, black – black was familiar, it was fine – he wore black.

It was hard on some days going without mission parameters and orders; it was constantly buzzing in his head though that he – in a desperate attempt to make it stop – actively looked for a handler at one of Hydra’s old bases. Of course, by the time he found one, Bucky decided he didn’t quite like the handler’s tone and did away with the whole base, along with its personnel and data to boot.

The buzzing became a barely there hum.

He liked that he decided to do that for himself.

The mess that followed – Germany in particular – Bucky could barely remember.

The Soldier deemed the parameters of mission objective: survival too important to deal with the everyday stressors of choice and preferences weighing them down. Bucky let him take the lead and only surfaced on the occasion that the Soldier required rest – a necessity without the cryo-freeze.

The longest he’d been conscious after Romania was in the damned bunker, just before he had to watch the Soldier – himself – almost tear Stark apart, and he’d never tried harder to wrangle control from the Soldier before.

But when it came to survival and instinct, the Soldier wouldn’t budge.

Steve didn’t help matters.

By the time they got to Wakanda, Bucky felt depleted and neither he nor the Soldier was talking after their conversation on King T’Challa’s jet, at odds in such a way that they hadn’t been since they decided to co-exist so many decades before:

_I saved you / I don’t deserve to be saved_

_That’s not just your call / It wasn’t just you that killed his parents_

_We need to survive / For what purpose?_

_Mission objective? / We have none._

And then the silence followed; going into cryo was the best option on the table.

Choices, preferences, free will was nothing if he couldn’t do that. Not when he – the Soldier – still needed orders, parameters; purpose, and he didn't trust anyone to give them to him, to use him.

Steve didn’t help matters, _“I don’t think you should do it.”_

Small mercies that he hadn’t phrased it as an order, Bucky had thought with some bitterness.

By the time he was defrosted, pardoned and given sanctuary in the Compound, Bucky still didn’t know what to feel.

A man in an immaculate suit stopped short in front of the entrance of the Compound – watching them through tinted sunglasses. Stark. Bucky wanted to flinch away.

He remembered him in bits and pieces outside of the confrontation in the bunker, in flashes of moments when the Soldier let him up for air during survival protocols. Bucky shot him in the face the first time they met, and then the last time, he almost pulled out his power source and left him in his coffin of a metal armor.

He looked better; at least, Bucky noted regardless, an aftereffect of his years in service.

Stark was well dressed, well groomed and from the fit and mold of his three-piece, well taken care of. Bucky’s eyes snapped back into focus. _No._

“About damned time,” the archer, codename: Hawkeye, declared, before turning his attention to Stark, and sneering, “Well if it isn’t the welcoming committee. Should we be honored that the billionaire whose successfully buying a clear conscious had time for the team he dumped on their asses?”

In the few hours that Bucky actually spent with the spy, he found Barton a great irritant especially when Anthony Edward Stark was mentioned, and the news reports during the flight from Wakanda made it clear he would be mentioned often.

In light of the media frenzy of “Civil War”, Anthony Edward Stark returned from the Siberian bunker – seventy-two hours after their engagement a new man.

Or, as Romanova said, the man he’d always been. She was quick to inform, Iron Man was recommended, Tony Stark was not.

Even as Tony Stark went up against the Accords Committee and the UN and the US government, played by their rules and twisted them around his fingers from his hospital bed. Bucky couldn’t divert the Soldier’s attention if he tried, not that he did, the man – the man was a goddamn marvel.

From his Stark phone, Tony Stark began restoration efforts around the world, made amends for every misdeed done under the Avenger name and rebirthed a new organization to replace SHIELD that was, from Bucky’s knowledge, Hydra free. The Soldier couldn’t resist throwing the Witch a look; she volunteered to the terrorist group and had no intention of atoning for her sins. Bucky thought it was crazy, he clearly wasn't the only one.

_Stark did not approve of her / Good._

From his workshop, Tony Stark was settling into re-establishing his tech empire with advancements in green energy and prosthetics, as well as a lovely device that Bucky wasn’t sure had a category, but he felt the need to look up anyway: the retro-framing Hydra de-triggering treatment. After T’Challa told him where the invention came from, the Soldier stirred and declared:

_I want him._

And Bucky couldn’t even disagree.

With the way the Rogues were going on about how it was all just a ploy, just _Tony trying to buy his way into sainthood,_ a never-ending topic of conversation from the looks of the newest members, Lang and Wilson, it didn’t surprise Bucky in the slightest that they made Tony the sun in their solar system because that’s what he was.

And they – the Rogues – were nothing but passing asteroids.

When Stark seemed to see through Barton, the shortly-shaved blond tried to get in his face, “What, don’t wanna talk now? Still think you’re so much better when you have no one?”

“Mr. Barton,” an agent, former military by the posture, interjected flatly, “I’m going to ask that you desist from trying to provoke Mr. Stark.” _Especially since he’s the one that let you come back,_ Bucky could practically hear her say from the thinness of her lips and the disapproval in her eyes.

Barton ignored her. “You couldn’t be happy with not having no one, could you? You had to go and make sure I had no one either, I know it was you who talked Laura into the divorce, you son of a bitch.”

Ever Barton’s echo and someone Bucky was sure the Witch was using to channel her abundance of rage, Scarlet jumped in with a sneer, “We know you didn’t want us back, Stark, did you get lonely now that your _friend_ is as useless as you are?”

Wilson visibly stiffened, likely at the implication of Colonel Rhodes, codename: War Machine, and even Romanova and Steve grimaced.

The blow was low; perhaps Barton was feeding into the Witch too.

Stark remained expressionless, even as the Soldier began to growl.

Barton withdrew, and then rerouted for a punch that would’ve packed some just as the unnamed agent declared, “That’s enough.” Her tone brokered no arguments or discussion. “You are only back on US soil due to the goodwill and efforts of Mr. Stark.”

Barton scoffed. The agent ignored him.

“Your return, as you are aware, is conditional and subject to review. Any altercations can null and void the agreement reached and you will be expedited and trialed by the many countries out for your heads.”

Again, Barton snorted. “What, so we have to play nice or we’re out?”

“No one ever said you weren’t quick on the punch,” she answered flatly. “Mr. Stark has kindly volunteered to provide accommodation and resources until the review of your pardon in three months’ time; however, if you deem him unsuitable, you will have the option of fending for yourself. Do keep in mind that the public doesn’t like you and neither do I; your welfare and survival will not be our concern until after the government and Accords Committee deem you suitable for Avengers business in which case, we’ll be playing on a different playground, but we all know the saying about counting chickens before they hatch.”

Steve tried to placate, “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“What’s harsh is the number of dead civilians in Nigeria, Slovakia, and Germany during your little temper tantrum or the number of lives you’ve destroyed of actual SHIELD agents in the wake of Project Insight’s data dump, Rogers.” He and Romanova stiffened. The agent’s smile was politely cruel. “I wouldn’t resist Mr. Stark’s help if I were you.”

And at Barton’s snarls, Stark finally spoke, voice just as flat and unyielding as the agent beside him, “Oh, resist, I insist.”

“Tony,” Steve turned, voice strained interestingly between pleading and reprimanding. “You can’t possibly -”

Stark interrupted, “Make no mistake, I don’t want you here. But the UN and the governments of the world can’t seem to trust you, and since King T’Challa’s tired of your attitude a lot faster than I did, it falls to me to keep you _contained.”_

“You’re throwing us in prison, I knew you couldn’t be trusted -” The Witch’s hands raised, but just as quickly, they were bound by a flash of golden light, and from nowhere, a man in a cape appeared just behind Stark. “When you said they threw temper tantrums, I didn’t think you meant it literally,” he drawled.

“What – what are you doing to me!” With every tug of her hands, the golden light tightened like a noose.

“My associate, Doctor Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme,” Stark said, by way of explanation; his dark brows lifting just enough to be seen over his sunglasses. “Did you really think I was playing _that_ game again?”

“So you are,” Wilson noted, eyes narrowing.

“Your residence in the Compound is as it was before Wicked Witch and Bird Brain threw my kid through five floors,” Stark said while Strange flicked a finger against the Witch’s temple before withdrawing.

She raised her hands immediately only to find the red stream of magic gone. “What – what did you do?!”

“What you signed up for,” the agent answered, exchanging a nod with Strange. “Don’t tell me you didn’t read your pack? Or did you see the word ‘pardon’ and think there would be no consequences for your actions?”  

“Tony, this isn’t right -”

“By all means; do something about it,” Stark challenged, and Bucky could feel the Soldier smirk, _clever, clever_ …

And while the Soldier and Bucky admired the loophole Stark was exploiting up close and personal, and truly, it was a sight worthy to be admired, the man turned and gave them something else to enjoy as he walked away.

 _No,_ Bucky insisted weakly, there had to be a line somewhere – the Soldier couldn’t possibly – the Soldier purred,  _Yes._

Over his shoulder, uncaring to assert his authority but knowing it would be followed, Stark ordered, “Follow me.”

Bucky - Bucky was weak.

_Mission identified: Serve Anthony Edward Stark / Mission Accepted._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The favs requested it, and so it was done.

Tony was both surprised and not about the developments that occurred after the return of the Rogues to the Compound.  
  
That they weren't happy was a given, expected actually, he thought with a smirk.   
  
The Witch was without power thanks to Strange, unharmed but also harmless, and relegated to angry teenager despite her twenty-six adult years. That Vision was not pleased by her presence regardless of her piss poor attitude and was actively avoiding her, upset her all the more.  
  
Barton, with no one else to pretend responsibility for (he certainly hadn't thought of himself), took to shooting Tony dirty looks whenever they were in the same room. The vents were few and far between, narrower and monitored to boot, there'd be no bit of peace or mercy for the archer.   
  
For Lang, whom Tony hadn't met but recognized from Hope, he was ambivalent about. Hope was not and neither was Pym. That alone seemed punishment enough, it seemed. At least Lang looked remorseful enough, throw in his kid and the man was downright pitiful.   
  
Tony couldn't help but shake his head.

Captain America had enough sway to get two grown men to leave their families for nothing but the asking? Or were these guys just the shittest dads on the planet because Tony thinks himself a bit of a connoisseur in that department with Howard and Obie coming to mind. But that wasn't his business.  
  
As for Captain America himself and his two sidekicks, Romanoff and Wilson, they were all quite displeased and took to different ways of showing it:   
  
Rogers attempted to talk to Tony about being a team and being a family and together, in that same tone of disappointment that made Tony roll his eyes so hard he saw his brain.

Romanoff attempted to play to ego,trying to skitter back into Tony's corner like the spider she was, only to be rebuffed ("Wouldn't do that if I were you, Rushman, the spy world already wants your head, don't give me an excuse to let them have it.").   
  
Wilson, so far out of the original Avengers dynamic that Tony hadn't exchanged more than a few words since the helicarrier fiasco, had nothing but brooding silence to stew in. The man's guilt seemed enough that he couldn't even look Rhodey in the eye. Good.   
  
It was petty, Tony knew, to enjoy their miserable states, but he had so few things to bring him pleasure in the past year in the aftermath of that Hydra Bunker, he was allowed it, he thought. He didn't revel in it anyway, he wasn't an awful enough of a person, but he could take satisfaction from it and no one could blame him.

Rhodey certainly didn't, and Pepper, whose dragon-mother tendencies were in full maturity since Tony's almost three-day surgery, was practically salivating from it.  
  
All in due time if the Rogues were as predictable as he remembered. And if his video-calls with T'Challa were any indication, the probability was in the 98th percentile.   
  
Everything had been accounted for, thought out. Every word he deigned to exchange with them calculated down to the twitch of his lip. Tony Stark didn't survive a kidnapping and attempted murder(s) to shut down his most lucrative department and still manage to make billions more by being anything but thorough.   
  
Almost every eventuality was thought through.   
  
Almost.   
  
Tony didn't account for Bucky Barnes.   
  
Granted, he didn't feel the need. After the bunker, the seventy-two hours waiting to die, and the painful recovery that made him wish he had, Tony had nothing else to feel for the ex-POW that he hadn't rationalized already.

_Bucky was tortured; turned into a murdering puppet and was essentially deprived of all personhood for seventy fucking years._

Yes, he was responsible for his actions, but the fact that he had to go through so many wipes - and there were many, god, there were too many - seemed proof enough that he was trying to fight them off, trying to retain what little he could.

Bucky Barnes was the gun. Hydra, the metaphorical fingers that pulled the trigger and reloaded the weapon. Over and over again.

It was far different from the soldier Bucky was during World War before he got body-snatched by Hydra. Back then it was a choice of war, kill or be killed, and while the guilt from that was all Bucky, Hydra’s sins were not his to bear.

Tony would be an outright monster to deny him that.

If anything, getting dragged into the “Civil War” nonsense was just as inconvenient for Barnes. From the intel Tony gathered, the man was taking responsibility for his own recovery in what little ways he knew how.

Beyond the single Hydra base he blew up, Barnes had even managed to do it peacefully.

So, Tony lent him a hand.

T’Challa helped talk him through it - even if the young king was wrong in assuming Barnes killed his father, the array of emotions he went through were genuine and painful. They even had a pity party over it - about their fathers' seemingly boundless expectations of them. Granted, they were swimming in vastly different pools regarding their fathers, but the sentiment was still appreciated.

Looking at the soldier now, though, Tony could confidently say he felt nothing for him.   
  
But if he did, he'd be lying.   
  
Tony Stark could talk shit with the best of them, after all.

He was skeptical; suspicious.

In all the scenarios he ran through, he didn’t expect Barnes to linger. Expected him to stay, sure, he had nowhere else to go. But linger _around Tony_ was not even in the realm of possibility because _why, for what purpose?_

So he went down the list: Attempt to murder him; guilt regarding the murder of his parents or a weird sense of gratitude for getting him home.

All of them were viable, of course.

Murder was on the table because the number of people who want him dead has always been an active list; guilt was a motivator Tony understood intimately and while gratitude was an option, none of the Rogues seemed to know what that was when it came to Tony so he highly doubted that.

With little to go on, and no evidence to explain away Barnes’ behavior, Tony left it alone. Ignored it like he did his anxiety and panic attacks and the myriad of symptoms associated with being a civilian playing hero.

He just - left it.

But Barnes was not the type that could be left, apparently.

Friday alerted him that Barnes had made a break for it, and as per Tony’s decree two weeks earlier, he wouldn’t stop them - they weren’t prisoners here.

He ignored the ringing of the phone in the office set aside for Avengers/Accord work that said otherwise.

What raised Tony’s head from the new set of prosthetics he was fiddling with, six hours later, was Friday declaring, “The quinjet has landed.”

“He’s back?” Out of everyone, Tony figured he’d have the best bet at surviving on his own. Triggers or not, Barnes was still the Winter Soldier, that came with all the myth and fear to keep people away, plus, there were always Hydra resources to make use of.

“Guess I should see what he’s up to,” he thought aloud.

Friday added, “Sergeant Barnes is wearing tactical gear.”

Son of a bitch.

“Should’ve led with that, Fri,” he grumbled as he got in the elevator.

“Sorry Boss, if it helps, he seems to be in a better condition than when he left.”

“Of course he would be, he probably killed a base worth of people.” Tony could already feel a headache brewing. He really should give Fri more attention, when she got bored she tended to _help_ , and since she saw nothing wrong with Barnes’ habits of late, she figured there’d be no harm.

_My sweet summer child._

At least, he thought, rubbing at his face, Barnes was giving Friday room to grow while Tony was distracted by the rest of the world.

But no - there was no upsides to this - Barnes just went on an unauthorized mission to do god knows what, destroying things and killing people for who knows what.

There were two Iron Legion models on standby, and Tony’s own suit was literally a flick of a wrist away. Tony couldn’t afford to fly by the seat of his pants anymore, and for good reason, Barnes remained a hulking tower of murder personified.

Still, he wouldn’t be Tony Stark if he showed normal levels of self-preservation, so he stood between the entrance and the Winter Soldier, arms crossed and foot tapping like an impatient parent. “Start talking, Frosty.”

A second ago there was a flitter of defiance in his eyes, a small niggling of doubt and then - nothing, Barnes’ voice was monotonous, muffled slightly by the muzzle, “Mission report: Hydra base located and destroyed; operatives neutralized and in-base systems permanently offline.”

The scowl fell slowly, and the millions of thoughts smashing into each other in Tony’s head like colliding particles screamed to a stop.

Barnes flinched then, suddenly aware of how detached he sounded before he seemed to shrug it off and return to stand at attention, back straight and shoulders level.

The triggers couldn’t have been activated, according to Barnes’ last brain scan and Strange’s own brand of hocus pocus, the words that demanded compliance from the Winter Soldier was like a light switch in his head that was no longer connected to anything. But then what was this?

“Survivors?”

“Mission parameters indicated no one.”

“And who gave you mission parameters?” Tony asked slowly.

“I did.”

Barnes didn’t seem startled by the revelation which made sense, no one got out of his situation smelling like relative daisies without their brains coming up with some way to get them through it. The possibility of the alter ego taking over Barnes unwillingly though was still there.

Tony eyed him, just to make sure, and Barnes didn’t seem concerned by the scrutiny.

While his expression was still carefully blank, it was more out of discipline than an empty slate to be written on. A tell or two was noted and cataloged by the twitching of his fingers at his side, curling for a gun that wasn’t there, though there was nothing in his body language to indicate agitation just a sense of restlessness.

Visibly, Barnes sustained no injuries, but he could easily be hiding them - as the Asset, god, Tony hated thinking that, his physical health wouldn’t be so much a priority as it was a consequence - weapons were only useful if they were operational.

But - Barnes wasn’t a weapon anymore, and considering he still seemed a little too glower-y-and-brooding to be willing to ask for help from anyone, Tony decided, “Alright. Physical status report of the Soldier?”

Tony caught the barest blink-and-you’ll-miss-it lift of Barnes’ lips, and then, “The arm was affected in the neutralization of the base. Maintenance is required.”

That, Tony could do.

Still, just in case, he asked, “What are your mission parameters?”

“Destroy Hydra,” there was an inflection in his voice, as if shared between two different people, though the rage and calm co-existed with the knowledge that no one could stop him which was fair, Tony wasn’t a fan of Hydra himself, and far be it for him to get in the way of their just desserts.

Suddenly, it all made sense. Barnes' constant lingering and shadowing was just his way of sticking to the man who had all the tech, who was one of the three people that approved of missions and could gather the info to do the deed. Tony couldn’t fault his methods, in fact, it was actually quite admirable how he'd thought of it what with the state of the Compound was in after the Rogues returned.

Tony was right in thinking Barnes didn’t want anything from him, but murder was still on the table, after all, when Pepper got wind of this, she was going to kill him.

“Need help?”

Barnes tilted his head slightly, hair hiding one of his one eyes - the emotion seeping into an inquisitive look that rang oddly childlike, worsened still as he repeated curiously, “Help?”

Tony shrugged. “You’re already using the Compound as home base, and Friday to gather intel, all you need is someone to make sure your arm is in good condition to get it done.” He highly doubted Barnes was interested in the paperwork or the chain of command that had to be circumvented, but Tony had begun to enjoy playing into people's perception of Tony Stark, selfish bastard that was slowly but surely taking over the world, even though it was true.

When Barnes said nothing, only continued to look at him, the blue in his eyes shifting as if the Soldier was taking his turn to scrutinize Tony, the engineer added, “Besides the good ole Cap will be quite upset to find that I’ve forgiven you far more than I’ve forgiven him, and I’m nothing if not petty. So, what do you say, wanna make this official?”

Then, there was a glint in the soldier’s eye.

At the time, Tony thought it was just due to an opportunity being presented and seized, but considering a few months later when that glint was accompanied by a devilishly devastating smirk and the caress of the filthiest tongue, well, clearly, Bucky Barnes was a lot sneakier than Tony gave him credit for.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da ~

**Author's Note:**

> I had a plan - Bucky and the Soldier kidnapped it. Oh, well.


End file.
